


Shake Me Down

by queengabby



Series: memos [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Androids, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Crimes & Criminals, Drama & Romance, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Good Cop Bad Cop, Internal Monologue, Police Procedural, Post-Game, Slow Build, Swearing, Undercover Missions, Undercover as a Couple, Vignette, hey siri how do i write connor without being horny, more like Good Cop Annoyed Cop and Drunk Cop, oh there's no y/n in this, pissed uncle father Hank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-25 18:37:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14983160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queengabby/pseuds/queengabby
Summary: you're supposed to be doing your job but itjust so seemsthat Connor's hands are pretty fucking criminal.orthe bits and pieces of how you fell for Connor (and how he also fell for you)





	1. In my life I have seen people walk into the sea

**Author's Note:**

> the lyrics of 'Memo' by Years & Years is where the series title comes from!! plus it's like a memo pad!!! for investigations!!! u knoooo! eh?? eh??? alright yeah i'm sorry  
> I think about this as a story of the reader trying to remember different things that happened between her and Connor and the rest of the gang (in no particular order) so hopefully it doesn't come across as too messy!!! 
> 
> please enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to Cage the Elephant for my life

You look up at the trashy club in front of you and sigh, the dance music so loud you can feel it beneath the pavement.

“I’ll ask around outside the club. Why don’t you two go inside?” Hank asks, taking out a hand from his pocket to point at you and then at Connor.

“You just don’t want to go where the music is loudest.” You accuse, and Hank doesn’t even feign innocence.

“Absolutely. Get moving, detective.”

You give a short glance to Connor who only looks back at you with mild intrigue.

All your leads to a murder suspect had indicated that this was the place to be. A known red ice distributor who runs a deep web of runners throughout the nastier parts of Detroit. 

You show your detective badge to the bouncer at the door and he gives you a resigned look before nodding his acceptance. As soon as the door swings open, you feel a wave of heat that immediately starts making you sweat. You shouldn’t have worn your uniform’s jacket, but it was the only way to conceal your department-issued pistol. When the door closes behind the two of you and traps you indoors with hundreds of drunk and sweaty club-goers, Connor stands so close to you that his chest almost touches your back. You’ve been working with the android and the lieutenant for several months now, having been in close-quarters before, but the atmosphere of this place was suffocating in and of itself. You’re glad Connor has the forethought to get close, since the last thing you want is for him to get lost in this crowd.

You feel a hand on your shoulder, “We should get closer to the bar,” Connor suggests, his voice a few levels higher than necessary to accommodate the background noise.

You give a curt nod and begin navigating around groups of dancers. Someone nearly drops their beer on you but you swiftly turn and allow it to drop on the floor, soaking your sneakers instead.

Great.

The bartender’s counter is illuminated underneath by a decorative waterfall that shifts colours every few seconds. When you walk up, the bartender tilts his head up and pointedly looks as if he wants to take your order but you lean closer to start a conversation instead.

He’s human, and difficult to get information from. It’s obvious from his demeanour that he isn’t interested in chatting – so it feels futile to even try and ask him about some of the regulars that come by. You consider flashing him your badge but Connor touches your arm briefly and gestures to a nearby android cleaning glasses. You step back from the bar and feel the soles of your sneakers resist the movement due to the stickiness of the floor.

“Shall I?” Connor asks, and you almost bump noses with him when you turn to look up at him, expecting him to explain a bit further.

It’s so loud that you can feel an echo beat against your rib cage. You know why people like this type of atmosphere — it’s intoxicating when you’re intoxicated. But you’re sober as all hell and you know you’re not blending in.

You feel safe with Connor, though. The LED at his temple is a calm blue, even more obvious when the pulsating lights above darken to the tempo of the music. Though your patience is wearing thin, his company proves to be extremely helpful. His jawline is even sharper at this angle, his hair looking a bit unkempt since having to jostle your way through groups of gyrating drunks. You know it’s futile but you reach up and brush some of his hair from his face. He watches you, momentarily and the heat between the two of you – in the entire room – is practically unbearable. He’s obviously waiting for the okay to go get information from that android but you’ve been guilty lately of wasting time in exchange for Connor’s attention.

It isn’t professional, but it’s stupidly addicting.

“Go for it. I’ll go upstairs,” you gesture to a mezzanine above and Connor looks like he’s thinking the plan over.

“You shouldn’t go up there alone. Stay down here and we’ll go up together.” He suggests instead.

You scoff but the noise is lost during a particularly loud bass drop. You settle for rolling your eyes, “Okay mom,” you have to shout.

He gives you a funny look, somewhere between amusement and exasperation, having gotten used to yours and Hank’s habit for smarminess.

Settling further into the crowd, you allow Connor some space while he talks to the other Android. There’s a sloppy exchange of red ice between frantic hands, and once you make your way to a back wall, you can see over the sea of people. There’s a clear distinction between the steady wave of dancers, moving to the music, and those who are working against the current – selling merchandise. If your suspicions are correct, this entire establishment would be guilty of endorsing red ice.

You see Connor work his way back to the area of the counter you both had been a few minutes ago and you weave through the crowd to reach him. The walk is long, and you manage to bump into every sweaty person available before you get to your destination. Upon seeing you, Connor takes hold of your wrist and tugs you, knocking you unsteady and toppling you forward into his chest.

“Oh, my apologies detective,” he says, and you use your hands to steady yourself on his torso, fingers splayed across the fabric of his shirt in a way that renders your incapable of speech. You know he thought about the correct way of doing this, but he didn’t calculate for your stupidly uncoordinated (and now sticky) feet.

Connor’s grip comes up to the juncture between your neck and your shoulder and your heart is beating so hard, you almost wish you were drunk so you wouldn’t be so _fucking_ hyperaware.

“I’ve been told the suspect we’re looking for is on the mezzanine near the lounge area. It shouldn’t be as crowded.” Connor says.

“Yeah,” you reply dumbly, his hands still on you. Unthinking, you twist towards the staircase and make your way over. Connor’s fingers drop from your body and, ok, focus, you’ve got this.

As expected, near the back of the mezzanine, the suspect is sitting on a criminally large bean bag chair surrounded by empty beer bottles and other drunk patrons.

You step up to him and get eyed over by several other people before they resume their drunken banter.

“I’m a detective from the DCPD. I was wondering if –”

“Fuck you, I’m not going anywhere.” He interrupts.

“Okay,” you’re already wearing thin on diplomacy at this point so you press on despite your usual better judgement, “Sir this doesn’t have to be difficult.” You put your hands on your hips, “Innocence is easy to prove if you’re willing to –”

“Look, _copper_.” He glances up at you while a female android busies herself with pouring him a purple colored drink in the glass of his outstretched arm. “I’ve got people here that vouch I mind my own business. I’m a paying customer of this establishment. So why don’t you fuck off?”

You grit your teeth, “I don’t know if you know what _suspect for murder_ means but if you continue to be difficult, I will be forced to remove you from the venue.”

He looks you up and down, in a way that feels lecherous and foul. He immediately looks unimpressed, and then stands up. “I’d like to see you try.”

You see Connor’s LED flicker yellow, “I would advise against threatening an officer.” Your partner says, his voice steady but sharp in a way you’ve rarely heard it.

“I think the lady can speak for herself, Plastic.” He sneers at Connor and you feel your blood boil. “So what’ll it be? You gonna leave me in peace or do we have a fuckin’ problem?”

You take a steady breath before smiling pleasantly. “Oh I’m leaving you in peace, but I can’t say the same for your runners.” You say, holding up several packets of smuggled red ice you’d snatched earlier from his workers while you had met back up with Connor. “I also have identification for several of your hires,” you say, using your other hand to flip open a notepad as you pocket the red ice into your jacket. “who’ve been going up and down the staircase with batches of product. So _technically_ I could arrest you for more than just what I came here for.” You close your notepad and give him a venomous smile. “What do you think is more of a ‘fuckin’ problem’?”

 The way he lunges at you in fury is predictable, though it’s harder to counter his violence in such a crowded spot. He elbows one of his own workers in the midst of reaching for you. Hopping out of reach, you use your heel to kick him in the ribs. Party goers are now screaming because of the commotion, but you’re too busy defending yourself from the suspect to do crowd control. Connor is trying to intervene but there are too many people running between the three of you for him to approach safely.

“Get my piece!” the suspect is screaming, but there’s too much scrambling and you’re suddenly shoved forward, giving him the opportunity to hit you.

There’s a loud crack and then your nose feels like it’s on fire.

Adrenaline rushing to your ears and feeling righteous in your own fury, you punch the side of his jaw so hard that his head snaps to the side and he crumples to the floor in a heap. Your knuckles are throbbing and you’re holding the fingers of your opposite hand up to your nose to stop the blood from gushing onto the front of your shirt. Someone is holding onto your elbow but you’re far too disoriented from the pain to do anything but stiffen up and prevent them from grabbing your pistol under your arm.

But the steady flashes of yellow and red LED tells you that it’s Connor who grabbed you.

“Jesus _Christ!_ What the hell’s the matter with you two?!” Hank yells, having made his way through the crowd and up to the mezzanine. He looks angry, though you know it’s out of concern for you and Connor rather than frustration from the situation you’re all in. Everyone seems to make room suddenly upon realizing there’s a body on the floor, and a sixty-year-old man shouting atop it. “Connor, look after the detective will you? Her nose looks like shit.” Hank says, leaning over and turning over the suspect to cuff his hands behind his back.

 

 

 

* * *

“Please stay still, detective.” Connor chides you again and you grumble. You’re seated on the hood of the police car as Connor stands between your legs, taking care of your unbroken – but very bruised –  nose.

“I think I got blood on my shirt.” You grouse.

“I believe that’s what a washing machine is for.” He says, and you finally find it within yourself to take a chance and look up at Connor’s face.

“You’re mad.” You say.

“Androids don’t –”

“Oh shut up, you’ve been deviant for months.”

Connor uses a finger to tilt your chin up and look closely at your nose. You don’t resist, even as he inches you a bit to the left, and then a bit to the right. You feel pretty disgusting – caked in blood and sticky from alcohol. Your hair is mussed and oily from sweating so much during the investigation. Though Connor doesn’t seem to notice, or perhaps he knows you feel shitty enough that he doesn’t want to mention it. His ability for empathy has grown ridiculously wide since embracing his deviancy.

He’s still careful though, and calculated with the things he says. It takes him a while before he speaks again, the LED on his temple moving between blue and yellow several times before settling back on yellow.

“You provoked the suspect, knowing he had a pattern of violence. Why?”

“I wasn’t going to let that jackass sit there in his stupidly huge stink chair and insult you,” you say, as Connor wipes some blood off your cheek. “The rebellion happened and people still talk to androids like they’re shit, so yeah I provoked him.”

Connor sighs, putting the alcoholic wipe in a plastic bag next to you that you’re using as a makeshift garbage. “No matter what you do, there will always be people who resent androids.”

“That’s not good enough.” You counter.

He smiles a bit, but doesn’t look at you. “It has to be.”

There’s a long pause of silence and Connor’s LED still burns a bright yellow on his temple. He’s deep in thought, and you feel the ache to pull him out of it. “Connor,” you urge, and finally reach forward to take his hand in your own.

He stares at your clasped hands for a moment and then you sigh, “There’s something else, right?” you give his fingers a squeeze.

“I wasn’t able to help you when it counted, and you got hurt.” He admits.

“You’ve saved me loads of times.”

“But _this_ time—”

“I’m sure there’ll be a next time,” you grin and he looks miffed, though he keeps holding onto your hand.

“I’d rather not hope for us to be in a similar situation in the future.”

You laugh, “Did nobody tell you when you signed up on this gig? You’re in it for that ‘next time’ and the time after that. Being a detective is basically a bunch of ‘next times’.”

“Is that what the brochure says?” he says and you point at him with a wide smile on your face. You were always pleasantly surprised when he pushed for humor.

“Hey that was a good one!”

“Thank you.” Connor briefly lets go of your hand to tie up the plastic bag.

“So,” you gesture to your nose. “How do I look, doc?”

The light on Connor’s temple slowly shifts back to blue as he inspects you. He brushes a stray piece of hair from your face and you can feel your cheeks heat up.

He smiles. “Ready for the ‘next time’.”


	2. I try my best just to get away, (1 of 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the lovely responses!! i've got a few of these in the works but this one is by far the most angsty so fair warning!!
> 
>  
> 
> [title from Crash 2.0](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zzj64iKoIEI)

It was supposed to be a simple mission.

That’s how most tragedies start, right?

The narrator goes on to tell a story of how the mission could’ve gone differently if everyone had done what they were supposed to, or that the whole operation was rigged from the start. In reality, it’s neither of these things.

It was supposed to be a simple mission,

but the things that lead to this were not.

Every day that led to this – every moment that passed between you and Connor left him split. Like the times you’d tell a joke and Hank would laugh but Connor wouldn’t. And instead of moving onto something else, you’d take the time to explain it all in detail, and show him why Hank found it funny. It would cause a snap – a misalignment – in Connor’s code. Or the times you’d walk home after a long shift together, and you’d give him a hug before he left. Another splinter would form. Or when you’d take the time to tell him your favorite movies and invite him over to watch them together. Another – and another – and –

 

Eventually, something breaks.

And that’s why, even though the mission was simple, it all went very very wrong. Connor did something that neither you or Hank were expecting – he hesitated – and he was shot for it.

He’d always been methodical before, examining everything to the basest scientific or mathematical calculations his programming had. You’d been chasing a wanted man through the rougher parts of Detroit, finally cornering him on the roof of an old factory. The man had a criminal record and history of violence against androids. He was holding you at gunpoint, but to protect you, Connor got in the way instead.

You’d gotten used to investigations leading you to dark and dangerous people, but you’d been surrounded by two other detectives who made you feel safe because they weren’t scared. And when Connor dropped to the ground, you didn’t hear Hank fire his gun at the man. Two shots – one to the shoulder and the other to the knee – and the man was disarmed.

“Connor?” you rush to his side and he’s still breathing but it’s labored. You help him turn over and inspect the gunshot, your hands already coated in blue. He takes your hand in his and when you look at him, he _smiles._

“I’m glad I got to you in time.” He says between gasps, and you squeeze his hand back, your other hand coming up to cup his cheek.

“Connor, stay with us ok? We’re going to bring you to CyberLife and get you fixed up, you’ll be ok –” you tug open his jacket to find his dress shirt soaked in Thirium.

“Sorry,” he’s still smiling and reaches up to wipe your face – when did you start crying? “The bullet has damaged the core in my abdomen.”

“No, no, _please,_ Connor we can fix it,” you try to apply pressure but it’s useless.

“Don’t cry, detective,” he murmurs. “That makes me…” he blinks up at you, “sad.”

Backup had been called in advance, other officers making it to the top of the building only moments after the initial altercation.

 

But Connor dies in your arms, and there’s nothing anybody can do about it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Other members of the precinct are in the office when you and Hank return. Connor’s body was brought to the CyberLife facility as you were brought to the hospital to check on your injuries. Your hands aren’t stained blue anymore from where the nurses had rubbed you clean but there’s leftover Thirium all over your shirt and jacket from where you’d held Connor. Hank steers you towards his chair and sits you down before making his way to the office kitchen. Hank wanted to bring you straight home but you insisted you’d be ok to wait for him to put in the incident report with Captain Fowler. There’s a cup of hot chocolate held in front of you, and you glance up to see Hank standing over the chair.

“Drink up kid, I’ll be just a minute.” He says, making sure you have a steady grip on the cup before going to the Captain’s office.

You take a tentative sip and then put the mug down on Hank’s desk, hesitating before you glance over at Connor’s empty table. It hadn’t had much stuff on it to begin with, but something about being here with Hank and _without_ him felt wrong.

Some other detectives come around the corner, with Gavin heading them. You know you don’t have the mental capacity to pretend to look busy so you pick up the mug again and take another sip.

“Where’s plastic head?” Gavin snarks and you ignore him, fingers gripping the mug tighter, feeling your fingertips grow hot.

“Didn’t you read the report?” one of the other detectives ask, and then looks at you, “The fugitive shot him. CyberLife’s sending his replacement tomorrow.”

You hate the way Gavin’s eyes light up. You hate the way he stands in front of you, the way he looks like he’s about to gloat.

“Nothing like a good shot in the head to keep an android humble.”

There’s a crash of shattering pottery as the mug hits the tile beneath your feet, and you know Gavin realizes he’s made you snap only a moment too late because you’re already on him. You see red. Your bodies collide like two walls. He’s physically bigger than you but he’s not nearly as angry. He topples to the floor with you on top of him. His spite runs out quicker than your fury, your muscles wrung so taut, you feel weightless when your fists connect with his bones – his blood –  his body. But there’s a heaviness too. Something is so deep in the pit of your stomach that you feel like retching, it’s too rooted and it’s too empty and _god_ –

It’s not like Connor is gone forever. He’s died once before – when he and Hank hardly knew each other. But the three of you had grown impossibly close since then, and the weight of his death was something you weren’t prepared for. How do you prepare for _that?_

You can’t feel anything. You’re just repeating the same brutal motions over and over. You feel someone put their arms around your middle and it’s Hank that pulls you off of Gavin, a speckled mess of blood lies around the detective’s head like a halo. Your hand is absolutely broken but it’s nothing compared to the hollow feeling in your chest where Connor used to be.

When did he become everything to you?

A crowd of onlookers and emergency responders make their way over to Gavin and no one would’ve ever helped an android like they’re helping that piece of _shit._ You’re shoved back again and your view of Gavin disappears completely as Hank steps in your line of sight. You’re in hysterics and your throat isn’t working.

“Breathe,” he’s saying, his face inches from yours. You’re an earthquake in his hands. He brushes a thumb across your cheek and you have half a mind to realize the blood he wipes away isn’t your own. His grip on your shoulders is unmoving, and even though he means to be reassuring, he looks more lost than you. Hank isn’t angry, you know this when your eyes finally meet. He’s not chiding you, he’s not yelling at you, he’s just hoping the weight of his hands on yours helps you keep a grip on reality. CyberLife is going to send Connor back. You both know this. But somehow this time was different – it was painful and personal and too familiar to be easy.

 

Gavin is rushed to the hospital.

Connor is coming back tomorrow.

 

And you know everything about this is wrong because you’ve just done something terrible – but no one seems to know what the fuck to do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm planning a few parts to this one, stick around so I can hand out bandaids


	3. but you pulled me closer (2 of 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a direct continuation of chapter 2! thank you so much for the sweet comments, I love hearing from y'all.  
> I'm moving onto another idea!! thank you so much for your support!!!! i use too many exclamation points!!!!
> 
> PS: Hank saying he can barely use his phone is FAKE because he's a cusp millennial and david cage is a liar

In another life it would’ve been deliriously funny that the same nurse was treating you for the second time in the same day. She looks exasperated upon seeing you but ushers you to a different department for X-rays. Everyone had seen you attack Gavin, including Captain Fowler. He had even asked that you be brought to the hospital under police custody but Hank had somehow convinced him otherwise.

You have what the doctor described as a boxer fracture. Your knuckles are bruised and swollen in two different spots. Though the only person who was left bleeding was Gavin, you were still put in a splint and told to come back the following week. You were prescribed a stronger painkiller than something over the counter but you refused it, since your hospital bill would already be expensive enough. You also think you, well,

You sort of deserve to feel it.

Hank texts you to return to the precinct before going home and you already know what he needs to talk to you about — if you’re not arrested right on the spot.

But upon arriving back at the DCPD, no one moves to cuff you. No one so much as glances your way, though you catch a couple of people scurry away.

“It’s the splint. Everyone knows what you did,” Hank offers, sitting at his desk clicking away.

“I _told_ the nurse this isn’t the right cast colour for my complexion.” You joke, though the delivery is tired. Hank gestures for you to sit in the chair in front of his desk.

“Where’s the captain?” You ask.

“In a meeting.”

“About me, no doubt.” You say. Hank doesn’t say anything. “About whether or not to fire me — maybe charge me for attempted murder.” You go on.

Hank sighs.

“Or maybe first degree? Is Gavin dead?” You ask.

“Of course not. You pack a punch but you’re no Hulk.”

“What the hell’s a hulk?”

He rolls his eyes. “He was a superhero when I was growing up. Big and green and angry.”

“Wow sounds just like me.”

You’re honestly trying not to keep count of how many times you’ve made Hank roll his eyes in one sitting, so you don’t pull out any more one-liners. He’s probably under enough stress with Connor being re-sent to CyberLife, and now Gavin’s in the hospital which means you’re down two guys. And he definitely isn’t going to send you on an investigation after being the reason for both — well ok one inadvertently — being out of commission.

Hank clicks away a screen and leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk and his head being supported by one of his hands.

“I don’t know what to say to you, kid.”

“I’m really sorry Hank.” You do mean it genuinely, and you hope it comes across that way.

“I know you are.”

“I was really really stupid, I shouldn’t have — but then — and he,” you trail off. There’s no way to explain better than what he saw. Out of all people, he knows what you’re going through the best.

“Gavin’s had it coming for ages and I don’t blame you.” He explains, and pauses, “…he definitely should’ve known better than to piss you off, all things considered.”

“Yeah I just know you’re responsible for me and Connor so, if we ever do stupid shit,” you make a point of lifting your casted hand, “then you get blamed.”

“You and Connor are some of the best we have, so I wouldn’t worry so much about that,” he taps his thumbs together on his desk before looking back up at you. “I’ve been told, though, and I tend to agree, that you need to…”

 _Take a break._ Is what he means to say. But you know just as well as Hank knows that you’re being suspended. The rules of the DCPD are too clearly laid out, and not even the most nuanced reasoning would stop strict policy.

You falter on what to say for a moment before you decide wordlessly that it’s the right thing to do. Hank would’ve had to formally ask, so you don’t make him. You shuck off your jacket to unhook your gun and holster, handing them over to Hank, who’d reached out his hand after realizing what you were doing. You think about it for a moment, trying to feel even a little bit resolute. Eyes still downcast, you thumb the chain that holds your badge around your neck and take it off as well, putting your jacket back on.

“Kid, you don’t have to – ”

“Let me do this, please.” You interrupt, without looking up at him. Your badge drops into his palm and he stays silent. If you hear Hank’s voice break, you definitely won’t be able to hold it together. He’s important to you, he’s like your family, and the last thing you want is to know how badly it hurts him too.

You turn to leave but Hank stops you. “I was gonna give it back to him when he comes back but they’re gonna have him in brand new stuff so,” he’s holding out Connor’s jacket in one hand, and his coin in the other. “I figured maybe…”

“How did you get these?” you ask, your voice coming out like you’re winded. You reach for the jacket first but hesitate. Not all the Thirium on his coat had evaporated yet, so it was still stained a bright blue.

“Just take them, alright?” he puts the jacket in your arms and then picks up your good hand by the wrist, purposefully setting the coin in your palm before closing your fingers around it.

Hank looks at the floor and then back up at you. “I thought you’d want to return it all to him when he comes back so,”

You step forward and pull Hank into a tight hug, and after a bit of hesitation he returns it gently. Pulling back, you give him a smile.

“Be seeing you.” You say, and he smiles back.

“See you soon, kid.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

It snowed when you were transferred to Detroit. 

Reflections of the winter sun bounced off glass and tile alike, making the Detroit City Police Department seem idyllic and peaceful. Things would change when suspects were brought in, but for the moment, the cells were clean and quiet. Captain Fowler had pointed over to a clean and minimalist desk near the far right when you met him for your introductions. But as soon as the glass door of the Captain’s office closed, you turned and saw a brunet android sit down at the desk, the blue LED at his temple and the emblazoned RK800 title giving him away immediately.

You shuffled your backpack from one shoulder to another, a bit curious about his easy presence in the bullpen. You hopped down the few stairs between Fowler’s glass case and the bullpen, walking up to Lieutenant Anderson’s desk.

“Morning, I’m the new detective.”

Hank looked up at you and then promptly looked down at his desk, “You got a name ‘new detective’? We get a lot of those around here.” He shuffled some paperwork and then carelessly tossed it on the floor between the glass wall and the side of his desk. You took it he didn’t like time wasted.

You were a bit taken off guard that he didn’t expect you, “Did Captain Fowler really not say anything? I was transferred specifically under instruction to be your partner.” You were completely at a loss and frankly, kind of embarrassed.

Hank rolled his eyes, something you’d find to be a common occurrence, “I thought I already got him,” and promptly looked at the android sitting next to him before taking a swig of coffee. “This is Connor.” He said after putting his cup down.

It wasn’t like it’s a rarity for investigations to have more than two people, but the way Captain Fowler had explained it led you to assume it was just a small team.

Of two.

You tried not to give away how frustrated you were by the lack of transparency. You put your file on the lieutenant’s desk before glancing over at Connor.

“Hey, nice to meet you, Connor.” You introduced, giving him a smile. You hoped you weren’t coming off as rude – you were just caught off guard and didn’t know what to say. It felt like a huge intrusion, to say the least. You didn’t want to bulldoze on an investigation if it was already being handled. But something got the better of you and you grumbled, “I really thought the Captain would’ve mentioned something—”

The LED light at Connor’s temple briefly flashed yellow, “he just did.” And the blip of an email popped up on Hank’s screen.

**FWD: NEW DETECTIVE**

“Really?” you looked at Connor and then at Hank, exasperated. “ _Really?_ ”

“He probably didn’t mention my involvement to you intentionally due to the growing number of people who do not take kindly to androids.” Connor offered.

“So lying and making me look like an idiot is better?” you asked jokingly.

“Yes.”

You laughed at the bone-dry response. “Then why didn’t he tell you two?”

“Captain Fowler possibly suspected that the Lieutenant would refuse extra help on the deviant cases.” Connor guessed

Hank rolled his eyes so hard it looked like it hurt, “For Christ’s sake. If it’s not your twin brother, I don’t care.”

For what it was worth, the two men in front of you didn’t look particularly upset. Hank looked, thankfully, amused when he looked back up at you. “Drop your bag back here and pull up a chair kid,”

Connor looked over at Hank, “So the detective will be joining us? I was under the impression you enjoyed going against Captain Fowler’s direct orders.”

“We have room, and I need someone to not guilt me when I eat a fucking burger. So welcome to the team…” Hank gave a weighted pause as he waited for you to introduce yourself. As soon as you told him your name, he reached out with a smile to shake your hand.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The morning after being suspended, you wake up the same time you normally would for work. You try to go back to sleep to no success, so you get up and get dressed. It’s a good a time as any to take care of piling house work, so you spend time (one-handed) cleaning the bathroom of your apartment and mopping the kitchen. You roll your casted hand in plastic wrap and then put a garbage bag on it before climbing into the shower.

You keep checking your phone for notifications from Hank but he doesn’t send you anything and it drives you nuts. So you occupy yourself with grocery shopping, trying not to notice the fact that the cashier’s eyes look a lot like Connor’s. Trying not to think about the fact that Connor was definitely back at the precinct now.

You walk briskly back to your apartment and put away your stuff, and then sit down on the sofa. Glancing hopefully up at the clock above your stove –

9:30AM?

“Fuuuuuuuck.”

Desperate times call for desperate measures. You take out your softest blanket and make yourself comfortable on the sofa, getting ready for a movie classics marathon. You think about what Hank said about that one superhero movie and find the Incredible Hulk to rent (for fifty cents).

 

...

It absolutely fucking sucks.

....

So you binge the Iron Man movies and order pizza, falling asleep on the couch.

 

 

* * *

 

Distantly, you can hear rain hitting the windows of your apartment. You wake up to your phone vibrating next to your leg. Groaning, you check the screen to find five messages from Hank. You unlock your phone,

 

**You, 10:46AM:**

Incredible Hulk was lame

 

**Hank, 6:23PM:**

I should’ve figured u wouldn’t enjoy a classic. Sad.

 

**Hank, 8:34PM:**

Connor came back today. Asked where u were.

 

**Hank, 8:40PM:**

You awake??

 

**Hank, 9:02PM:**

I told Connor what happened to Gavin and I told him to leave it alone.

 

**Hank, 9:03PM:**

So expect him to be at ur place soon lol

 

“Shit,” you hiss through your teeth. You get up from the sofa so fast you momentarily get vertigo. Clutching your head, you go to the bathroom while texting Hank.

 

**You, 9:05PM:**

Bad. Bad bad bad. I’m still feeling shitty.

 

**Hank, 9:07PM:**

You know how he is

 

**Hank, 9:07PM:**

By the way I can’t believe you would be so mean to Hulk

 

**You, 9:09PM:**

I just said it was lame, not that I didn’t like it. Be proud of your garbage Hank

 

**Hank, 9:10PM:**

thanks

 

 

The doorbell rings before you get a chance to jab him again, and you race to pull a hoodie on before checking through the peep hole. You unlock your door and open it, coming face to face with Connor.

Unscathed, his shoulders a bit damp from the rain. A lock of hair is sticking to his forehead, and his brown eyes are as warm as ever. He’s alive again, and it feels like your broken heart is still sore from yesterday.

“Hello detective,” he greets you "I heard about -" but you shake your head, quickly hopping up into his arms for a tight hug before he says anything else. He returns it without a word.


	4. Baby, come on and work it for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> titles for chapters of this mini story are pulled from the song [hunger by florence + the machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GHXEGz3PJg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good ol' undercover "pretending to be married" tropes coming your way

“Sorry I must’ve misheard you Captain,” you hold up and hand and then look between him and Connor. The three of you are in his office, having a debrief.

“You want us to what now?”

“Go undercover outside of Detroit to find out who’s been exporting red ice.” Fowler repeats.

“Not that part.” You growl.

“Pretend to be a married couple at an esteemed resort near lake Michigan.”

“You must be joking.” You reply, deadpan.

Fowler stares at you blankly, “Detective, am I known to be a joking man?”

You laugh, something of a defense mechanism, “Well it’s never too late to start, _really,_ ”

Fowler looks like he’s about to chastise you but Hank walks in not a moment too soon.

“Lieutenant did you—” You start, but Hank cuts in.

“Oh I already know.”

“Since when!”

“Mm,” he shrugs, “A few days,”

“And you didn’t bother to warn me that this was coming up?” you ask.

“I didn’t think you’d mind.” Hank says. And to your absolute horror, you realize he is being completely genuine.

“Are you nuts!”

“I don’t want to speak for the detective,” Connor interjects you quickly, “but I can say for myself that I don’t have much prior experience with this kind of undercover work.”

“So you’re both incapable of doing your job,” Fowler concludes.

“ _No,”_ you both reply in unison, baffled.

“So you _can…”_ Fowler continues slowly.

“Captain,” you try not to sound completely exasperated, “we’ve been in disguise before, but that was minor compared to this. Simple red ice bust, sure, but you’re asking us to be bosom buddies with rich folks and find out an entire _network_.”

“Are you telling me you don’t think you can convince the suspects, or that you don’t want to try?” he asks, folding his hands over his stomach.

You look over at Connor who is staring intently at Fowler. Pretend to be married to Connor? _Married?_ Sure, things with androids were going well in Detroit, but you’re still worried about the biases people held. You can only imagine it’s worse outside of the city.

“We’ll do it.” Connor says before you can blink.

 

Oh boy.

_Oh boy._

 

 

 

 

 

 

The eastern border of Lake Michigan is humid but breezy in early July. The landscape is peppered by various resorts, though it doesn’t detract from the scenic view of the coast. The car ride with Connor is mostly silent, and it’s sort of your fault. Ok well, it’s _all your fault._ Connor doesn’t press you for conversation, but you can tell that there’s something weighing on his mind that he doesn’t know how to bring up. Captain Fowler had debriefed you more thoroughly once Hank had taken a seat but a lot of the minutia between you and Connor seemed it would have to be born out of practice.

You know the DCPD is desperate to keep red ice from spreading not only outside of Detroit, but outside of Michigan. If it crossed over to Wisconsin, or even past the Canadian border, the spread could be irreversible. So you figure that’s why the department put you and Connor in one of the more luxurious resorts on the coast. The car pulls up to the valet station and Connor glances over at you.

“I’ll get the door for you, wait a second.” He says, and you blink twice before nodding. As he turns to get out of his seat, you notice the wedding band on his ring finger and remember the gravity of the situation you’re about to be put in. Your matching band sits on your own ring finger, and when he opens your door, he offers his hand to you. You can’t be nervous anymore – you don’t have a choice.

Taking Connor’s hand, you exit the car as a bellhop comes over to greet the two of you. A young human male, who begins to greet you but ends up staring at Connor intently instead. The two of you had decided not to hide the fact that Connor was an android, since it wasn’t so odd to see any number of different models walking around and enjoying their recently-found freedom. Connor isn’t wearing his usual jacket, just his usual white dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. You had insisted he at least try to blend in and _attempt_ to look like he’s on vacation. His LED is a dead giveaway though, and it emits a gentle blue glow on his temple.

You clear your throat and glance around for help as the busboy continues to ogle. Connor looks at you a moment before realizing the noise isn’t for him, and then seems to come to an idea as he offers his arm to you. Another gentleman comes over, who you assume to be the bellhop’s manager, “Take their luggage, boy.” he ushers the younger man away as you loop your arm with Connor’s.

“I’m so terribly sorry,” the manager says, seeming quite embarrassed. “Some of our younger staff are from out of state – they’re not very familiar with androids.”

“I thought you’d have plenty of androids working here,” you try to sound casual, making sure not to cast an opinionated tone in your voice.

“Oh, what I mean to say is –” he looks between the two of you a moment, and at your joined arms. _Android guests._ Is what he means.

Connor must feel your grip tighten on his arm because he brushes your knuckles with his fingers gently, and you try to release the tension building in your shoulders. You can’t break from something so simple – you should know better. You compartmentalize the unpleasantness and give the manager a smile, “We’ve heard so many wonderful things about your resort, it doesn’t surprise me that your workers come from all over the country.”

The manager seems to bask in the praise and you stifle the urge to roll your eyes. The three of you make your way into the resort’s entrance.

An opulent chandelier hangs in the middle of the lobby, some sort of digital holographic making it appear crystalline and shimmery. The bellhop stands near the front desk, awaiting instructions on where to drop off your bags. The woman at the desk is an android, who smiles pleasantly at the two of you. “Could your android interface with our—”

“Husband,” you correct her automatically. The woman blinks rapidly before looking between the two of you and smiling again. “Of course, please pardon my manners.” She holds her palm up near a console and Connor puts his hand on it, the synthetic overlay of his skin briefly disappearing. The clerk’s LED blinks yellow before turning back to blue.

“Registered,” she welcomes the two of you by name and gives you a heavy matte key card. “Your husband can unlock the door through our network, and this card is for you, madam. Our bellhop will drop off your bags, please feel free to take your time and look around.” The two of you go to leave the desk but she calls you back, “Oh, I almost forgot your invitations for tomorrow evening's event –” she takes out two envelopes and hands them to you. “You’re more than welcome to visit the sights around Lake Michigan but the gala is free for all guests staying with us, and we’d be happy to include you in the celebration.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

You use the key card to unlock the door and enter the room, Connor a few steps behind. When you get inside, it’s made clear that the hotel is absolutely right to boast their luxurious suites. It’s about the size of an upscale apartment. And smack dab in the middle of the room is a canopy bed with —

“It’s quite fragrant in here isn’t it?” Connor asks, and spots the rose petals sprinkled on the duvet.

You both stare at the petals for a heavy moment before you clear your throat.

“I’ll call Hank and let him know we’re here.”

“No need, I’ve already sent a photo of the room to him via text.”

You gawk at Connor for a moment before you go on the hunt for your suitcase. You find it near the closet of the main hallway. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you check the screen.

 

**Hank, 3:46PM:**

What the fuck

 

 

You sigh, deciding to call him instead of texting back and forth. You balance the phone between your shoulder and your cheek as it rings.

“How come I didn’t get any rose petals on _my_ bed?” Hank teases.

You almost laugh, “Be nice to me Hank, I’m suffering here.”

“Sure looks like it. Five star resort? Torture.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting a room too?” you ask, as you walk back into the bedroom. Connor is lying down, playing with the settings of the footrest.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a few hours.” Hank replies.

“Detective, the bed comes with a massager,” Connor says, clearly intrigued. You can hear a steady hum coming from underneath the bed, some of the rose petals jostling off the duvet as it vibrates.

Hank must’ve heard you on the other end because he laughs.

You sigh, “Please hurry.”


	5. Don't let it get you down, you're the best thing I've seen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so so much everyone for reading and sending in comments. your support for this story is absolutely giving me life. 
> 
> special shoutout to [ghistwrite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhistWrite/pseuds/GhistWrite) who suggested a pool scene hehehehe
> 
> please enjoy!!

The three of you decide to meet together before going out to the pool area and scouting out some of the other guests. Hank arrives in a tropical shirt and boater hat. When you open the door to yours and Connor’s room to let him in, you can’t help but let out a laugh.

“How festive, Hank,” you say, as his eyebrows raise.

“What? I like patterns, gimme a break.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing, did I?” you tilt your head and laugh again.

He comes into the room and you shut the door behind him.

“How was your drive lieutenant?” Connor asks, perched in a buzzing leather recliner. He was also wearing patterned bathing suit bottoms with a plain t-shirt, which seemed strikingly casual in comparison to his every day wear. The only thing that reminded you he was an android was the LED on his temple.  Hank raises a brow at him.

“Can you get outta that chair if you’re gonna have a conversation with me?”

“Certainly.”

You put on some sunscreen under the sleeves of your tshirt to occupy your time, having changed into your bathing suit a few moments prior. Your ‘wedding ring’ is on a chain around your neck, since you feared it would slip off while swimming. Connor, however, still has his on his finger.

“Connor,” Hank takes hold of his shoulder for a moment. “I need to tell you something before we go out there.”

“Yes lieutenant?”

“There’s a virus going around.”

You frown, capping your sunscreen and then folding your arms over your chest. “What do you mean?”

“For androids, not for humans. Before I left, Fowler checked in with some of the local precincts in this area. Apparently there’ve been a few cases of the same ‘bug’ and our resort is within that range so.”

“So there’s a good chance Connor could catch it.”

“Maybe.” Hank nods, “We think it’s being passed through interfacing.”

“I’ll use my key card for our door then.” You conclude.

“And don’t let your _husband_ put anything in his mouth.” Hank says, looking pointedly at Connor, who only blinks innocently.

“I’m going to the pool.” You say, ignoring Hank’s jibe and picking up your towel off the edge of the bed.

“Detective, did you apply sunscreen?” Connor asks you.

“Yes.”

“On your back, as well?”

Hank rolls his eyes.  “ _I’m_ going to the pool.” And promptly leaves the room.

You close your eyes. “Oh boy.”

 

 

 

At his insistence, Connor had finished applying sunscreen to your back. Though you were embarrassed, it was clear that Connor was simply making sure you didn’t burn. You were half expecting him to taste the sunscreen to make sure it had adequate SPF.

Hank is lounging in a wicker recliner under an umbrella when the two of you make it to the pool deck. He has an amber colored drink next to him that’s filled to the brim with ice cubes and fizzing. He’s nearer to the back of the recreational area, so as to be outside of the ‘splash zone’.

You’re not supposed to make it obvious that you know him in public, so you set your stuff down at a pair of recliners nearer to the pool, in the shade of a tree.

“You should stay in the shade for another fifteen minutes to make sure the ingredients bind to your skin.” Connor explains next to you, as he removes his t-shirt, “And remember to re-apply your sunscreen every two hours.”

“Getting the romance going, huh sweetheart?” you ask him jokingly, as another couple nearby glance at Connor. You’re glad he’s ambushing you with prattle because it distracts you from how _obviously fit_ he is. Androids have nipples? No, _stop._

You take off the t-shirt that was covering your bathing suit and drop it onto one of the chairs, looking over at Connor who opens his mouth and then clamps it shut again. His eyes roam over you for a moment before he diverts his gaze to the grass, and sits down on the recliner in the most formal pose you’ve ever seen.

“Can androids get sunstroke?” you ask him, genuinely wondering if he’s broken. You sit down in the chair next to him.

It takes him a moment to answer you, even though he doesn’t look in your direction as he speaks, “I cannot feel temperature but my body can still overheat.”

You look around the pool area and see that most of it is quite vacant, safe for a few small groups of people. You don’t expect to see many androids outside of Detroit but what Hank told you about the virus makes you feel like there should be more of them here. In fact, there are only two – an ST300, the standard receptionist model, and a YK500, the popular child android.

“Would you like a drink?” Connor asks you, rousing you from your analysis.

“Yes, that’d be great. Iced tea is fine.”

Connor puts his hand on your knee before he stands up, and walks over to the outdoor bar.

Peering over at Hank, you notice him finishing up a crossword puzzle. There’s a human child walking nearby who is balancing a scoop of ice cream on a cone while her mother tugs her along. A woman is lying on a towel in the sunshine while her partner rubs her back with sunscreen. You hadn’t gotten a moment before, but now you notice that the two androids are actually sticking together. The ST300 model is watching over the little girl who is swimming in the shallow end of the pool.

It’s a bit odd to see an android looking over another android, especially since it seems that the ST300 isn’t deviant.

Connor walks back to you, and hands you the glass, fixed with a mini umbrella.

“Her name is Emma.” He says to you as he sits down, and you take a sip of your iced tea before you reply.

“What?”

“The YK500. Her registered name is Emma.”

“You know that?”

“The ST300 called her name while she was swimming. I happened to hear it.”

“Oh for a second, you sounded really cool.”

“Just for a second?” Connor tilts his head, finding your tone amusing. “That’s a bit mean.”

You grin at him, with the straw between your teeth. Connor’s line of sight moves down to your collarbone, where the ring around your neck sits. And then, whether subconsciously or not, he fiddles with the matching ring on his finger. He glances over at the two androids.

You’re about to ask him another question, when Connor goes as still as stone. The LED on his temple suddenly turns red.

“Connor?” you set down your drink in a hurry and lean forward, touching his hands.

Connor doesn’t reply, blinking rapidly. You look around and the pool is now empty, the androids gone.

You’re about to start panicking when he moves his hands palm up to grab your own. “One moment.” He says, eyes still cast down.

“Is something –”

His voice is slow and soft when he speaks, making sure to keep it almost to a whisper. “Hank was right about the virus. I just got it.”

“What? But you didn’t—”

He tugs on your arms, his LED burning red. “Put me in the pool.”

You help him up, wrapping your arm around his torso so that you’re hip to hip. His skin is cool but you can feel where your ribcages meet that he’s beginning to get uncharacteristically warm.  

As soon as Connor reaches the edge of the pool he lets go of you and drops in. You wonder for a moment if he can swim. You lean down and hop into the water, too, trying not to make as much of a splash. When Connor surfaces, his LED is switching rapidly between red and yellow before settling on yellow.

You know it’s not exactly subtle but you wrap your arms around his neck and try to pretend you’re swimming with him. His eyes flicker up to yours before he moves his arms around your waist.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, his touch all too pleasant on your skin. He’s neck deep in the water, pieces of hair stuck to his forehead. You brush it back, still worried when he doesn’t respond. But you’re in public, and you can’t panic or it’ll draw too much attention.

“The threat to my systems is now clear.” Connor finally says, his LED back to a pleasant blue.

“Oh my god, you scared the shit out of me.” You say, hugging him to you.

“The ST300,” Connor starts, and you lean back to look at him, “Her name is Hailey. She’s carrying the virus.”

“I thought you had to interface to get it.”

He shakes his head, “I went to do a simple scan and something in the network was bugged. Nothing too complicated, just an overload of useless code designed to keep out intruders and other androids.”

“A security wall? But why?”

Connor looks thoughtful for a moment, “I have a feeling it’s more complicated than that.”

You mean to get out of the pool and follow her, but Connor holds you tightly to him.

“Pursuing her will rouse suspicion.”

“Connor, she tried to hack you.”

“And she failed. We should tell Hank about it and be prepared if she tries to do it again.”

“You think she’ll lead us to our suspect?”

“I _know_ she will.”

 

 

 

* * *

  

After debriefing Hank on the situation at the pool, the two of you part from the lieutenant to order dinner in your room and change out of your bathing suits.  

You finish your meal and sit back in your chair, watching the news as Connor practices with his coin.

It’s pleasantly quiet between the two of you, though after leaving the pool, you find yourself unsure of the physical boundaries between you and Connor.

“I believe we should work on our public displays of affection.” He says, suddenly.

You almost spit out your drink, though Connor instantly offers you a cloth napkin in reply. You glance up at him when you wipe your mouth. “What?” you finally say. Connor’s LED blips yellow as he turns down the television and then it goes back to blue as he continues.

“At the pool. I believe it was too obvious that we were uncomfortable.”

“Unpracticed.” You correct.

“Of course.” His hands are fiddling with the coin before he pockets it. “I believe it would be mutually beneficial if we…”

“What, you want to kiss the bride?” you joke, but when he looks up at you, you realize _that is exactly what he was thinking._

“It would help make things less awkward.”

“Or more, depending on the way you look at it!” your face is burning red. This is _not_ how you imagined this going down. Not that you were saying you imagined it a lot, _just –_

Fuck.

“Fine, okay.” You don’t see anything wrong with it, and yeah, sure, you actually agree with him. You’ve kissed people before, it’s not a big deal.

You clear your throat as Connor approaches you. Sure, just let Connor kiss you.

Let him. Put his mouth on yours. In a kissing way. Sure.

“Detective if this makes you uncomfortable –”

“Connor that ship sailed, like, twenty awkward-pauses ago.”

“Right…” he trails off a moment, his hands on your shoulders.

The two of you share another awkward pause. Twenty-one.

“Your heart rate is elevated.” He notes.

“ _Your_ heart rate is elevated!” you repeat, an automatic response. Connor quirks a brow and you cover your face in humiliation. “You’re killing me. You’re absolutely killing me, Connor.”

“I’m sorry,”

“Just—please hurry up. You’re siking me out with this staring.”

“I’m using the hotel wifi to download enjoyable kissing techniques.”

“Oh my god,” you say exasperated before leaning in and capturing his mouth first. Connor is stiff for a moment, following your motions with caution. You pull away after a second, and then tentatively kiss him again. There’s something incredibly endearing in the way he encourages you to continue. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to break apart, timidly tilting his head for a better angle. You don’t mind, your arms around his neck, fingers smoothing out the collar of his shirt. When you pull back a bit to see his reaction, the LED light at his temple is yellow.

“I—” he stutters, which is charming and also worrying, “Didn’t finish my download.”

“I don’t care,” you say, watching his mouth.

“Agreed,”

When you go in for another kiss, Connor meets you halfway. This is a long way from simple practice. If that had been either of your intentions, you would’ve taken time in between to detail how to make the kiss seem more natural and unceremonious. But the two of you don’t stop – in fact you barely have enough sense to come up for air, your heart hammering loudly in your chest. This is supposed to be for an act, so why are Connor’s hands insistent and pulling you closer?

And then you feel the brush of Connor’s tongue and all bets are off. You have an iron grip on his jacket, surprise and lust taking over in a dangerously powerful way. He must be doing it for curiosity’s sake, he _must –_ but you’ve been screwed since he put his hands on you. So you have no control over yourself when you return the gesture, sweeping your tongue against his. His grip tightens again, chest to chest, and you had forgotten Connor was so strong but the feeling of it now makes your body practically scream with arousal.

There’s a loud knock at the door and the two of you are slammed back into reality, parting so violently it sends your mind reeling. You stumble back a step, your fingers on your mouth. When you look up, Connor is staring at you too, yellow light spinning dangerously fast on his temple.

He seems to recover first, though his LED tells you otherwise, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out once, twice. Your heart feels like it’s in your throat. “I just wasn’t expecting –”

Another knock at the door.

“Expecting what?” he asks, looking innocently curious and it drives you nuts.

“Gee, the _tongue? Maybe?”_ your eyes widen in emphasis, and Connor blinks in response. You almost want to laugh at the situation you’ve _absolutely caused_ but the near devastating affect Connor has on you is keeping your whole body on edge.

“It was the first result in my downloads.” He says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. But this is supposed to be an _act_ so having Connor french you at a gala would not seem very appropriate.

“I need you to look up a Wikihow on public subtlety.” You tell Connor as you open the door. Hank is in the hallway, and upon hearing your last sentence, quirks an eyebrow.

“Why’s that?” Hank asks.

“I thought you, of all people, would agree with me.” You reply, a hand on your hip. You’re not going to tell Hank the truth, he would most likely drop dead.

“I mean yeah,” Hank smiles when he walks into the room but then he frowns at you. “You feeling okay? Your face is all red.”

“I’m hot, Hank.” You hold out your arms, now flustered, “I’m just a sweaty person and you’re going to have to accept that.”

“Why don’t you take another dip in the pool?”

“Taking a dip doesn’t solve all my problems, unfortunately.” You grouse, feeling Connor’s gaze on your back.

You want to die.

 

 

 

  

* * *

 

 

 

 

  

 

In the morning, you wake to find yourself alone. You assume Connor and Hank have gone to discuss the case, or perhaps one of the many that they’ve been simultaneously working on. This is by no means a vacation for either of them. It’s hard for you not to think about yesterday, there’s a lot to unpack that maybe makes your heart do funny flips in your chest in a good and bad way.

You take a shower and get dressed, grabbing a few pieces of fruit before going out for a walk along the resort’s beach area. It’s too early to get your shoes full of sand, so you stay on the boardwalk, twinkle lights spooled around the wooden posts that line the walkway.

The air is still cool and you’re glad you threw on a sweatshirt before heading out the door; your only company are a few seagulls perched along the walkway and near the next hotel’s fenced property.

There’s a wooden bench that sits facing the water, and you chuck a banana peel into the nearby garbage can before taking a seat. You lounge there for a while, sitting cross legged, the wind brushing your hair back from your face.

You can’t stop thinking about kissing Connor yesterday and it’s driving you up the wall. He was trying to help you be more comfortable, he was trying to make this easy, but ended up making it entirely too complicated. And the fact that he did this to maintain the illusion of a relationship that you _wish_ you had –

It really hurts.

The sun is further up in the sky when you notice Connor approaching you, and you sit a bit straighter, giving him a welcoming smile before looking back out at the water.

“Hank told me you like the ocean.” Connor says, standing next to you. You hum in reply.

“May I sit?” he asks, and you scootch over to give him room. There are two birds at the end of the wharf fighting over a French fry.

“I’m sorry about yesterday.” He says, and you hesitate for a moment before looking up at him. “For making you feel obligated to…kiss me.”

“Please don’t apologize for that,” you say, agonized. “You didn’t make me feel obligated Connor, this is just…hard for me.”

It’s quiet, the sound of waves between you. Connor speaks up, a bit softer, “Would it be okay if I asked for you to explain a bit further?”

You pull your hood up to cover a bit of your neck and think it over for a moment, “I…I feel underequipped to deal with this entire mission.” You shut your eyes and sigh, “Partnering with you makes it easier, but it’s… _difficult_ for me to just flip a switch and turn my real feelings on and off. I don’t know, maybe I’m just not cut out for this kind of thing.”

“So pretending to be married to me is…distasteful to you,” he concludes and you gasp.

“No! God, no.” you rub your eyes, and then turn to face him. “Connor that’s _not_ it. Please believe me,”

He looks genuinely concerned and it’s unbearably hard to have this conversation with him because he looks so upset. To have him think that you don’t like him, _when it’s the complete opposite,_ it’s heartbreaking.

You reach forward and pull him into a hug, ignoring the awkward angle. “You’re one of my best friends, and I don’t care if you touch me because I _trust_ you. But doing it in front of these people and having it be disingenuous is hard.”

“So maintaining the lie is what’s difficult?”

“Having _anyone_ think I’m doing it for the sole purpose of being deceitful…”

“I see.”

“Ugh,” you cover your face with your hands, your voice muffled “I’m so bad at explaining myself, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s alright. I was…worried you found me…” he trails off, looking for an appropriate adjective.

“Jesus _no._ Connor you’re a total catch.”

He tilts his head, “A ‘total catch’?”

“Yeah like,” you feel flustered for letting that come out so casually. “You’re attractive and you’re sweet and uh, anyone would be lucky to be your partner. So…you don’t ever have to worry about that, trust me.”

Connor’s LED is yellow for a moment before he moves a bit closer to you.

“I enjoy being close to you.” He says matter-of-factly, his LED blue like the water.

“Oh,” you swallow.

“So you don’t need to worry about it being pretend, or making it believable.” He takes your hand and taps a steady beat against your fingers, in what you suspect to be a soothing gesture “If what you say is true, and our friendship is that close, then don’t think of it as a lie.”

And in that moment, you know he has no idea you’re in love with him. He has no idea that the challenge with this mission isn’t the illusion, it’s the fact that when it’s over, things will go back to the way they were.

But you lean into it because you’re a sucker.

You’re a sucker, and you’re an idiot, and you’re a _goner_ —

And you have been from the start.

You look out past the wharf’s edge, your heart beating erratically and foolishly to the beat of Connor’s fingers drumming against your own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor's funky bathing shorts inspo [here](https://s7.landsend.com/is/image/LandsEnd/498323_A717_LF_7FF?%24prp_index_4up_v1%24)


	6. We never found the answer but we knew one thing

Most of the fashion choices in your life were less to do with making a statement and more for the sake of mobility. So when you come down the stairs in a high-waisted taffeta skirt and an elegantly simple cropped top, it feels –

Different.

You’re still prepared, of course. The thickness of your skirt helps hide your thigh holster, and the length of it hides your sneakers. If you were going to spend an evening cajoling with a bunch of bougie villa-owners, you may as well make your getaway outfit practical.

But having this secret to yourself makes you feel liberated in a way that you haven’t felt in a long time. And having Connor watch you make your way down the lobby staircase with a look of wonderment on his face, well,

It doesn’t hurt your ego, either.

He reaches out the hand with his wedding band on it to offer you help on the last step. You loop your arm into his effortlessly, feeling an ease that some partners never get to enjoy.

“Well don’t you look beautiful,” Hank greets you when the two of you make it to the entrance of the gala. You can’t help but feel embarrassed at the attention, though you reach out and give his arm a squeeze in response. The three of you are thankfully alone, with everyone either inside the venue or fashionably late.

“You look pretty handsome yourself,” you say, noting his outfit. You never thought you’d see the lieutenant in a tailor-made suit, but the pop of bright fabric in his pocket square reminds you that Hank still carries a bit of spunk wherever he goes.

“Hailey and Emma are both registered under the same man: Ian Cassidy.” Connor explains, showing you a picture of him on the palm of his hand, “He’s part of a bigger group who run red ice rings in Detroit but we’ve never encountered him personally.”

“He’s the kind of guy who works in the shadows.” Hank adds, “It’s good we might spot him in this kind of environment. Less places to run and hide.”

There’s a moment where the three of you are all deep in thought when Connor interrupts, “What are you wearing under your skirt?” he asks you, and Hank sputters in shock while you stare in disbelief.

“What the fuck, Connor! You don’t just ask someone that –” Hank starts.

“I suspected that’s where everyone else’s mind wandered.” Connor explains, despite the two of you staring at him in blatant shock. “…Your footwear?” he clarifies.

“Oh my god.” You take a moment to think it over and then cover your face with a hand, “I’m wearing sneakers and my running leggings,” but then you can’t help but laugh – at Connor’s understanding nod, and at Hank’s anguish – unbridled and hysterical.

“You were right about public subtlety.” Hank mutters, exhaustion having taken over, and then points at him, “We’re going to have a serious talk about the way to ask a lady questions.”

Connor tilts his head slightly and then looks between the two of you.

“Oh, I see.” Connor blinks once, and then twice. He looks like he’s actually about to smile about it, “You took it to mean sexually—”

“Alright, we’re going inside now, thanks,” you tug him into the main room of the gala even as Connor lets out a soft laugh.

 

 

 

 

 

 

You and Connor split up from Hank almost as soon as you enter the main area. Just like the lobby, most of the light in the room is thanks to large chandeliers that refract off the walls and floor. There are various tables and lounge areas scattered around the room, though most people who are wearing their most expensive formalwear are standing in circles together. Near one of the larger windows is a long table of finger food with expertly crafted desserts. There are far too many champagne towers for your liking. Any more than one and it just feels like a waste of glassware. Not to mention the very real fear that someone like Hank will come up and take the one from the bottom. Your favorite part of the whole setup is the pair of French doors that lead out to a porch overlooking the boardwalk. As you gain an understanding of the layout, you make your way over to the French doors and see the back end of the building. The patio’s staircase leads to a small outdoor restaurant and garden complete with a pristine looking fountain. There are people enjoying themselves here, too, though it’s monumentally quieter, and something about the twinkling lights makes it feel like you’ve stepped into a dream.

“You _do_ look stunning, you know,” Connor interrupts your thoughts. You turn to see him watching you, a hand in his pocket, which is relatively _new_ for him, you think. You’ve never seen his posture more relaxed than when he had become deviant.

You turn and put a hand on the railing, giving him a smile. He takes that as a sign to approach, removing his hand from his pocket and walking over to you with his usual stride. He’s handsome like this, in the dim light of the canopy. He’s handsome _always,_ but he looks genuinely happy to see you.

“I meant to say something, to… _add,_ ” he says, “but we got off topic and Hank has told me previously that I tend to change the subject at very unexpected times.” He continues, leaning on the patio next to you.

“I mean, asking me what’s under my skirt turned the tables pretty quickly too.” You tease, and Connor looks almost sheepish.

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t really think—”

“No need, I thought it was funny.”

“I’m glad to have humored one of you, at least. Hank looked like he was going to punch me.”

“Ah don’t worry, you could’ve taken it.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence.” He says, dryly albeit amused.

You look away from him shyly, unsure of what else to say. No one is watching the two of you at the moment, the patio almost completely empty and most other partygoers engrossed in their own little worlds. But something feels very special about being here with him, being able to share it with him. You see Connor’s hand reach out for you in your periphery, and then you feel it clasp your own. When you look up, Connor leans forward, tilts his head, and kisses you softly. You must let out a quiet gasp or _something_ because he takes a step forward so that he can brush his fingers along your jaw. And it’s something you don’t expect, at all.

The two of you had thoroughly desensitized each other the day before. But at the same time, half of it had turned into something much more complicated.

It had seemed like genuine affection for one another. And in this moment, it feels like that, too.

So when he pulls back and looks at you for a hint of how you’re feeling, you’re worried your reaction isn’t right. Because it’s not an act for you – not really.

“Are you—” he starts, but then suddenly turns his head to look over at the French doors, the LED on his temple yellow.

You follow his gaze and spot Hailey, the ST300, staring back at the two of you with empty eyes.

Connor’s LED turns red for a moment, and when it shifts back to yellow, Hailey turns and walks back into the gala’s indoor section.

Touching his chest, you try to look at Connor’s eyes, “Connor?”

“I’m fine.” He says, “She didn’t do anything.”

“She looked lost.” You reply, and Connor puts a hand on your shoulder.

“There’s a balcony over there,” he nods his head in the direction of a small platform with a tower viewer. “It has a nice view of the lake.” It’s unsaid, but you know what he means. _Go look for evidence of Ian nearby with the binoculars._

“Great idea, sweetheart, I’ll go take a peek.” You let go of his hand and head up towards the balcony.

It’s smaller than the patio, with only enough room for about four or five people. Luckily, no one seems interested in the tower viewer which honestly breaks your heart a little bit. These rich stinks don’t even know how rare it is to find one that isn’t coin-operated. You have to adjust the pole so that it comes down a bit more comfortably to your eye level, and then you look inside. You take a look around the nearby boardwalk and even the restaurant, but it doesn’t look like anyone matches the picture Connor had shown you. It’s even harder because you can’t discern the androids from the humans. Looking for several minutes, you decide that he probably wouldn’t be stalking around outside in the grass anyways, and if anything, he’d be blending in with the crowd.

You’d only been gone about ten minutes before you return to the main room, hovering near one of the _many many_ champagne towers. You decide to take a glass, before thinking better of it. If you have to go down, you may as well go down looking fancy as hell.

There isn’t a single person you recognize, except for Hank. You can only catch glimpses of him from this vantage point but you can tell that he’s sitting at a table looking expertly relaxed.

Connor returns moments later, and before you can smile at him, he is already within your personal space. He murmurs in your ear, a hand at your back. “The ST300 was reset.”

You blink rapidly. Something had happened. Something was _going_ to happen. You thumb your champagne glass as Connor continues to whisper in your ear. To anyone else, it would look like an intimate moment between two partners. You look up at his face and your noses almost touch.

“Did you notice it, too?” he asks, his eyes scanning around the room before looking back down at you.

No wonder it was so hard to find Ian in a room full of humans. Hailey and Emma were the only other ones but the ratio was still vastly outnumbered.

“No other androids.”

“Correct.”

“…Except you.”

You feel the hand at your back tighten to hold you a bit more secure. “Correct.”

You swallow, your throat dry all at once. “Ian knows.”

Connor smiles sadly, and nods. “I’m afraid he must have recognized me from my part in the uprising.”

You put a hand to his chest, smoothing down his tie. “No, this isn’t,” you shake your head in frustration.

“My involvement compromised this mission from the start,” Connor says bitterly.

 _“Connor,”_ you shake your head more furiously now, leaning forward to wrap your arms around him. Your champagne flute switches hands before you forgo it completely, setting it on a table nearby. You hold him close to you, hoping that somehow, some way, you could reassure him. He returns the hug, and when you pull back, you cup his cheek. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I can’t do this alone. You’re more than half the reason I agreed to this.”

Connor’s eyes widen for a moment, looking surprised and confused. “But you’re more than capable –”

“It’s not about that.” You smile, “ _You_ make me brave.” And before he gets a chance to reply to your honesty, you continue, “We’ll get another chance.”  

The LED at Connor’s temple is still yellow, and he’s staring down at the floor like he’s in deep thought when you finally pull away. He looks up at you, “You should get the lieutenant. We should call it a night and report back to Fowler tomorrow morning.”

You nod, though it makes you feel as if you’ve failed. You don’t have to maintain pretenses anymore, and perhaps that’s the worst part of all. “Right,” you swallow once, and when Connor notices your hesitance, he pulls you in and gives you another hug, his fingers at the nape of your neck, his other hand at the small of your back.

“It’ll be all right.” He soothes, and something about the way he says it makes you feel as if he’s not just talking about your investigation. Connor’s certainty keeps you grounded. He lets you go, and you both share a tender smile before you turn to find Hank.

When you find him, he’s of course, disappointed. But he also seems like he’s relieved too. He’s always been that way – always happy to find himself a bit closer to the truth of the matter.

“I’ll let Fowler know,” he says, finishing off his glass of beer. _Beer in a glass_. Hank truly has moved up to bougie status.

“Stay close okay?”

“Relax, kid. I’m a professional.”

“A professional with a flip phone.”

“Go get your husband and lea’mme alone.”

 

 

 

You don’t waste any time, intending to bug out as soon as possible. You’re glad you wore your sneakers because you’d even be worse off than you already are. But when the crowd parts and you see your ‘husband’, it is immediately made clear that something isn’t right.

“Connor?” you rush over to his side as he struggles to stand. He topples back, almost knocking over one of the stupid fucking champagne towers. His LED rapidly blinking red. You help him out onto the patio and sit him down on a chaise lounge.

“The YK500 m-m-model, the child,” he says, his voice coming out in breaks. “A virus—”

Emma.

You put a hand to his cheek as he struggles to speak. You’re starting to panic, you don’t know how to help him. “She gave you a virus? How?”

“I-i-interfaced—”

“You interfaced with her? You promised me you wouldn’t!”

He shakes his head sharply. “She looked –” he shakes his head again, changing his mind on what he wants to say “It’s n-n-not the same one from the ST300.”

“Still! We agreed we were done, we were going to report back…!” you insist but he puts a hand to your cheek, a thumb to your mouth in a hushing motion.

“H-h-h-h-had to. For the m-mission.” He smiles at you weakly, taking your hand in his free one with a tenderness he shouldn’t be able to show at this moment. “For y-you.”

Your heart feels ready to burst. Why would he do this for _you?_  

“She’s g-g-getting away.”

You know it’s pointless to argue with him now. If you don’t catch Emma, this will have all been for nothing. “Which way?” you ask, untying the bow of your skirt and shaking your hips to and fro until the fabric pools around your ankles. You kick it aside just as Hank steps out onto the balcony.

“Ready to – what the hell’s going on!” he asks, spotting you in a black ensemble more suited for cardio than a fancy party. “Wait _you were seriously_ wearing that the whole time?”

“If Connor starts to overheat, help him into the fountain.” You ignore his questions.

“ _Fountain_?”

You point towards it, “at the entrance of the garden near the restaurant. Trust me, Hank.”

You squat down in front of Connor. “Don’t you dare shut down on your wife.” You joke, but the way you touch his cheek again is not.

He smiles, though it looks forced. “Have faith in your husband.” And the fact that he bothered to continue to joke at all makes you love him more than you thought possible.

You lean forward, and though the two of you seemed to have agreed that it was well past time to keep up the illusion of your relationship, you kiss the corner of his mouth before you can think better of it. You run down the stairs of the patio, making your way through the sand below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi bubbies!!!  
> i've got a few ideas in the works so I made this into a series. the one I'm working on as a separate story is a bit out there so it's not going to be in these chapters. I've decided to narrow this series down to the moments that the detective and connor fall in love with each other so i really hope u enjoy them!!!!!!! 
> 
> again, thank you so so much for the support, it means the world to me. i adore hearing you all scream into my eyeballs!!! please continue to comment, it keeps me fed during my hibernation. i'll also make sure to post when i have the first chapter of the other story up! until next time!


	7. I try my best but I don’t ever change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [title is a bit of lyrics from Memo by Years & Years](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qGRO-HQXSu8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! hey, thanks for reading!! i snooped some fucking HILARIOUS readers on twitter and i swear to god, seeing people talk about my work is probably the most heartwarming thing in the world. thank you so much for the support, it blows my mind that you guys like this so much. and for sharing it with your friends!! holy shit!!! i just cant get over it, thank you so much i love u  
> i'd love to hear from more of you, please feel free to comment!!!!

Emma sits on the beach, looking out at the water. The hem of her dress is caked in grass and sand. If she was truly guilty, if she was truly just a tool, she would have run. She wouldn’t have stopped.

When you approach, she looks over at you with a sad smile before glancing down at her hands.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

You wait a moment to take in her appearance, realizing that despite how sinister the act may have seemed, that she was a victim all the same. “I know you didn’t.” you say. When she doesn’t look frightened, you come over and sit next to her.

“I wanted to give him papa’s list so he could help my mommy.” She looks as if she’s about to cry. “Is he okay?”

You don’t want to scare her, but you want to be honest. “I don’t know. He wanted to help you, too, but something you remembered and sent to him…”

She looks out at the water, and then back at you with a worried expression. “I’m sick, aren’t I?”

You don’t know how to reassure Emma in any other way besides touch, so you reach your hand out tentatively and brush her hair behind her ear. You know YK500 models just want affection and comfort, so you try to be gentle with her. She’s still just a kid.

“We’ll help you.” You say. Because you know there are ways to extract viruses from androids, even if it’s a difficult process.

Emma’s eyes well up with tears and she begins to cry, “I told him not to.”

“Connor?”

“No, my papa.” She looks down at the sand.

_Ian._

“He isn’t here. He said mommy would protect me, but it made everyone else sick. She felt bad and…”

The ST300 you’d seen at the party. You understand now. Hailey felt bad that infecting other androids made Emma upset. And so, when she went deviant and tried to turn off her internal network for Emma’s sake, she was reset.

“She doesn’t remember me. And I can’t tell her because I’m sick!” Emma weeps.

“She does, Emma. She _does,”_ you hold Emma’s face in your hands. “She remembers you here,” you place a hand on your chest and Emma sniffles.

“We’ll help your mom, okay?”

“Promise?”

You brush a stray tear off her cheek with your thumb. You know it isn’t easy, but there are ways to recall the memories and people they care about. The lengths an android go to protect one another – to protect their loved ones.

“Promise.”

And so you return to the party hand in hand with Emma.

Hank spots the two of you and stands up from his seated position at the edge of the fountain. Connor is floating in the water with his suit still on, his head and tie peeking above the surface. His LED is yellow, which is a relief to you when you had spent the last few moments with him as his temple burned red.

When you approach, Connor’s eyes open, and he looks at you.

“Nice day for a swim,” you comment and he smiles in return.

“The fountain was a good idea – managed to cool him off pretty fast.” Hank sighs, and then looks at Emma.

“Is he okay?” she asks Hank.

His features soften in reply, gently smiling. “Yeah kid, he’s gonna be just fine.”

Connor moves to sit up in the fountain, water splashing loudly as he takes hold of the edge of the marble, “I know how to remove Emma’s virus.”

“Really?” you breathe out in relief.

“It was designed to overwhelm my systems, but it was more sophisticated because she was actually carrying information on our case.”

“Why would Ian infect a child?” you shake your head.

“The contacts that Hailey and Emma were supposed to meet on Ian’s behalf might’ve been exposed to it prior to the gala, and so their androids would know how to sift through it.” Connor stands up in the fountain and his suit loudly expels the rest of the water stuck in the fabric. Emma giggles at his appearance, and Connor takes a calculated step out before offering his hand to hers.

“Come on Connor, at least dry off a little before helping the kid.” Hank grouses, but Emma doesn’t hesitate, putting her hand out and interfacing with Connor once again.

It’s quiet for a beat, with Emma’s LED blinking red and then yellow as the virus tries to combat Connor’s interference. But eventually, her LED returns to a calm blue, and Connor looks up at the two of you.

“I’ve extracted all information pertaining to Ian’s ring.” He says.

“Wow, just like that?” Hank asks.

“Lieutenant, I am a professional.”

And the fact that Connor is soaking wet, looking at Hank with apparent offense makes you snort with laughter.

 

Chris arrives at the resort to bring Emma and Hailey back to the DCPD. The plan is for them to stay under police protection until you’re able to track down Ian. And now that Connor has the list of fellow dealers, it feels like the case is starting to close in. But at the same time, you become well-aware that the marriage façade is broken. The dream is conclusively over.

You climb into the backseat of Hank’s car with your bags, resting your head on your backpack as the streetlights illuminate the inside of the vehicle to an imaginary beat. Connor speaks softly to Hank as your eyelids start to feel heavy, and just as you close them, you catch a familiar glint of silver on Connor’s ring finger.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

You get back to Detroit at around four in the morning, Hank and Connor dropping you off at your apartment. You catch up on some sleep, and get up to submit your reports on the mission. It’s 11AM when you walk into the DCPD, giving Hank a wave and making a bee line for the evidence room. You put your smoothie down on your desk first, and hear Connor speaking from somewhere nearby.

“…—f course, that would be great.” Connor says.

“The detective and you…” a woman trails off, “Are you actually husband and wife?”

“No, we’re not.” Connor says, and when you look, you see him standing in front of Hailey.

He glances over at you, “Good morning detective,”

You give a wave, “Hey, good morning.” you see that his ring is gone.

Hailey looks up and smiles at you, coming over to hold your hands, “I can’t thank you enough.”

You smile back, and you _are_ happy, but when you glance at Connor, you just feel frustration. Because for once, you have absolutely no clue what he’s thinking.

Connor’s ring is on your desk, which you collect and put into a pouch with your own. You usually _liked_ doing this part of the job – you liked putting evidence away, but these rings weren’t evidence. They didn’t have anything to do with the case, they were just a cosmetic lie.

And you stare and stare at them for so long you’re certain they might as well melt through the desk and into the floor. But in the end, you decide to keep them.

Like a sentimental idiot.

And you feel terrible for avoiding it, for avoiding him, for avoiding the truth of the matter. But something even more painful that you _knew_ you wouldn’t be able to cope with was the inevitable rejection.

So you close the box. You put them in a drawer, and shove them far in the back of your desk, in the back of your mind.

And then you get back to your reports. 

 

 

 

It’s near four in the afternoon when you manage to wrap up everything. Hank comes in and helps you out with some other remarks, but mostly busies himself with calling people that may know something about Ian Cassidy.

You get up and print out your report for the evidence locker, crossing paths with Connor.

“Hello again detective, someone has come in requesting us.”

You raise a brow, taking your work and putting it into a file. A moment later, there’s a tall human woman standing behind Connor.

“Good afternoon, detective,” she smiles and puts out her hand for you to shake. You juggle your report, shoving it under your arm to shake her hand, “I’m Agent Taylor, I was hoping we could sit down and chat.”

You let go of her hand and quickly examine her outfit. She’s wearing a blouse and pencil skirt with a visitor tag on her suit jacket. Something bureaucratic, you suspect she’s from a fancy department for federal enforcement.

“Yeah, Connor is the interrogation room free?”

“Certainly, right this way.” he leads Agent Taylor into the room while you quickly lock your report away in your desk. When you get there, she’s sitting across from Connor with a stack of paperwork in front of her. You close the door and she smiles up at you.   

“I know you had quite a bit of information on the uprising, since Connor was an active participant and you’ve compiled the reports on the matter.” she says.

“That’s right.” you try not to sound as cautious as you feel, taking a seat next to Connor.

“My job is a little hard to define,” she starts, putting her hands together, leaning on the table. “I work for the border agency, collecting information for them on any criminal activity. And as of recent, there’s been a lot of that at the Canadian border.” she takes out a file and slides it over, which Connor flips through. You can see in bold lettering, it’s a document on Canadian immigration policy for androids.

“As you know, Canada doesn’t allow androids into the country.” she takes out a notepad and a pen.

“So you suspect we know something about deviants crossing the border.” Connor concludes.

“Yes, in a manner of speaking. But,” she smiles again, “I’m looking for someone in particular. I think you’ll know her, Connor. Because you were involved with the protests.”

“Demonstrations.” you correct. Agent Taylor’s smile stiffens and you know your assumption of her to be correct. You don’t like that she’s here, and you certainly don’t like what she’s doing.

“You’re looking for Kara.” you say. It’s quiet for a beat, and Agent Taylor fiddles with her pen, looking down at the table, and then up at you with a sad smile.

“Kara, Luther, and Alice.” you say and the fact that there is no immediate denial is all the proof you need. And you feel your blood boil when you see her write down the name ‘Luther’ on her paper. She looks up, and at your expression, seems to hesitate. You can tell that even in your periphery, Connor is staring down Agent Taylor, too.  

“I can’t search for them if they’re out of the country, but I can give my colleagues in Canada information so that—”

“Go fuck yourself.” you say, and you see Connor whip his head in your direction.

“ _Excuse_ me?” Agent Taylor sounds bewildered but is instantly incensed.

“Detective—” Connor puts his hand up to calm you down.

“You heard me.” you lean back in your chair and fold your arms over your chest, “I’m not a _snitch,_ Agent Taylor, my job is to _protect.”_ you’re _seething, “_ And if you come in here asking about them again—”

“Watch what you say _detective_ ,” Agent Taylor interrupts you, her voice an octave louder, her face red in anger, “Know that threatening an officer is a punishable offence.”

“You’re not an officer!” you jab a finger in her direction like a weapon, “You’re a glorified _bounty hunter_.”

You stand up, knowing full well you’re about to throttle this woman if you don’t get out of her radius.

“Even though deviancy is tolerated here,” she says, standing up as well, but the table sits between the two of you. Her lucky break, you think. “It is not accepted yet, detective. These people are dangerous. It’s high time you understand that.”

You look back, and your smile is glacial, “Then I guess you’re in the wrong city.” you snap, and slam the door behind you.

 

  

* * *

 

 

 

The bell above the door of Jimmy’s bar rings as Hank enters. He spots you, sitting on a barstool, and unbuttons his coat.

“I heard an officer working with border patrol came in,” Hank says, “She wanted to ask some questions and left threatening a lawsuit.”

“Not now Hank, _please._ ” you’re on your second rum and coke, resting your temple on your hand.  

He sits down and orders a beer, “Jesus you look like shit.”

“What a way with words! Mr. Flatterer over here, Jimmy.” you take a sip and look over at Hank who looks near prepared to start a lecture.

“You’ve been off ever since we came back from that mission. What’s going on?”

“Would you like the alphabetical version or the chronological version?” you smarm.

“Can you stop deflecting with humor for a minute?”

“Counting down!” you slap your hand on the bar’s counter “Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight…”

Hank reaches over and dumps out your drink, turning your glass upside down, and then raises a brow in challenge.

“Hank!” your mouth is agape in shock and indignation. “That’s five bucks I’ll never get back! Look at the fucking ice cubes!”

“Jimmy, no more.” Hank says to the bartender who nods in agreement. And when you continue to glare at the lieutenant, he looks over at Jimmy again, “An iced tea, though.”

“Are you joking.”

“Are _you?”_ Hank looks at you seriously now. You can tell he’s near fed up with your shit so you stop trying. You take a few breaths, and groan, rubbing your face.

Everything was going so well, and now suddenly it isn’t. You guys saved Hailey and Emma but they’re so much like Kara and Alice, who are _still being hunted_ when all they want is to be happy.

And _Connor_ , Jesus _Christ_. You had a chance, _several,_ actually, to say something to Connor but you didn’t. You could’ve jumped his damn bones! Wires! Probably! Ugh, whatever.

“I’m like a stupid fucking teenager, Hank.” you tell him, looking up at Jimmy with a weak smile when he sets down the iced tea in front of you. It has a lemon, and it makes you huff out a small laugh.

Hank doesn’t push you to continue, and as you stab your ice with the straw in your glass, you finally relent. “I threatened that officer. Her name was Agent Taylor, she was asking about Kara.”

“The android that Connor chased on the highway?” Hank asked.

You nod. “Kara escaped to Canada with a little girl, Alice, and a big guy named Luther. She sends Markus and Connor postcards,” you trail off.

“You wanted to protect them.”

“Yeah.” you think about Emma and sigh, “Agent Taylor said deviants are dangerous but almost every case I’ve seen is an android escaping for real and _very_ valid reasons.”

“People are still learning. Humans most of all.” Hank says, his voice comforting. He takes a sip of his beer.

It’s quiet for another beat and then you sigh again, tapping your foot on the leg rest of the bar.

“Also I might be in love with Connor.”

He chokes on it, spitting alcohol onto the front of his jacket. Jimmy hands him a pile of napkins and gives the two of you room, clearly not wanting to get in on this current Party Of Awkward.

“Sorry,” you murmur, taking a sip of iced tea. You know he knew, he’s a detective and basically your second father. But you also know that at the same time, Hank really _doesn’t want to_ know.

“Jesus _Christ.”_ he coughs.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

And Hank doesn’t ask anything further but you feel better. You’re glad you told him because he seems to understand, and even as you feel like it was probably too much information for the guy who was basically Connor’s surrogate dad, he still pats your back and holds you in a way that is familiar and comforting.

Topics change, Jimmy returns once he doesn’t feel threatened by the heavy atmosphere, and the three of you continue in pleasant conversation. Until the bell over the door rings, and Hank’s smile drops off his face like an anvil.

You try to turn but Hank grabs your sleeve in a swift motion.

“Hello lieutenant,” a familiar voice greets him, sending the hair at the back of your neck standing on end.

“Hey Connor,” Hank says, and Connor rounds you to greet you.

But so does Hailey.

“Hello detective,” Connor greets, and Hailey stands next to him, giving you a gentle and genuine smile.

“Hey folks,” you say, voice trying for lightness. You look at Hailey and smile, “How’s Emma?”

“She’s fantastic, thank you so much again detective.” she touches your arm and _dammit_ she’s so fucking nice! You care so much about her and yet Connor’s standing next to her and it feels like someone’s just punched you in the stomach.

“We’ll be nearby if you need anything.” Connor says, and ushers Hailey to a booth in the back corner of Jimmy’s bar.

“Cool, cool cool cool, cool cool cool,” you repeat with a smile on your face, as they retreat. Connor raises his eyebrow at you for a moment but you just look at Hank instead.

You don’t want to be anywhere near here. Hank seems to catch your gaze but you ignore him.

“Thanks for the drinks,” you say, your voice feigning pleasantness, “I’m cutting out. I’ve had a _big_ day back.” You laugh.

“Let me get Connor to—”

You grab Hank’s wrist borderline violently, holding it down to the table. You don’t say anything – you physically _can’t_ say anything. You just look at him with the most pleading expression you can muster. It does the trick, and he just nods sympathetically.

“Get home safe, kid.”

You let go of him slowly, and then swing your jacket over your shoulders before briskly exiting the bar.

It’s stupid.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid._

You walk down the street to the metro station, securing your scarf around your neck, your feet crunching in the snow. You’re hurt and angry but you know Connor doesn’t deserve to have that put against him and neither does Hailey. Both don’t know! Both didn’t do anything wrong. And you know that it’s none of your business who Connor decides to spend time with, but a profoundly _large_ part of you wishes it was you.  

Upon having that thought pass your mind, the back of your eyes start to burn. You rub at them furiously, stubbornly not feeling sorry for yourself. This is _your_ doing. _Your_ doing! You helped a family, you should be happy! Two, in fact! You duck into a convenience store, and make a bee line for the junk food aisle.

A family format bag of party mix and a depression-sized tub of coffee ice cream later, you’re sitting on the subway home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really really don't want to demonize Hailey, she is a good egg!! please be nice to her!


	8. And if I try my hardest, would you look my way?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I've always been in love with you  
> Could you tell it from the moment that I met you?"

It’s five metro stops to your apartment, though it’s so late in the evening that there aren’t many other passengers coming and going. You’re sitting down in one of the seats, watching the brick of the outside subway track go by. Light illuminates the car every time you pass a maintenance tunnel. Holographic billboards shift and change ads every few minutes, taking a brief pause to show a map of Detroit and the way home. 

The metro slows, and the doors open again.

 

_Please keep behind the yellow line until the subway has reached a full stop._

 

You hear the clatter of someone getting on in a rush,

and there’s Connor.

You blink once, twice, thinking you’re still drunk from earlier (impossible) but he doesn’t vanish.  

He’s breathing hard, something you know isn’t necessary unless he’s worked up, or overexerted. He doesn’t say anything but he’s staring at you, his LED yellow. You can see from where you sit that his tie is crooked. The metro doors close, and he grabs a nearby pole.

You swallow thickly, bundled up and holding a bag full of depression food, certain that you look like a fucking marshmallow.

“Did you run here?” you ask.

“Yes.” he breathes again, “I needed to talk to you.”

“You could’ve texted me.” you counter, defensively. You don’t know why you do but you immediately regret it because Connor frowns. The metro sways slightly, and he follows the motion whether intentional or not.

“I asked Hailey to meet with me because I know how worried you are about them.” he starts, not waiting for you to reply, “Hailey and Emma…even Kara and Alice.” He was looking away from your face as he seems to process something, “I did it because I wanted to understand why you wanted to protect them.”

You breathe out in a rush, closing your eyes and then opening them slowly to look at him sympathetically. You’ve been such a jackass.

He continues when you remain silent, now looking at you, “I was going to discuss what her future plans are – for her and Emma, at the office. By the end of the day, at least. But then Agent Taylor came in.”

“So you invited her to come out to Jimmy’s instead.” You breathe out, understanding hitting you like a pile of bricks.

“When you left, you worried me. Hailey told me I seemed preoccupied and thought our discussion should’ve waited until morning.”

“No, you did the right thing Connor.” you assure him.

“I just…” he trails off again, and this is possibly the most you’ve ever seen him so conflicted, “If I hurt you in some way…”

It isn’t him, it’s you. And even though he probably wouldn’t understand how cliché that line is, you still can’t bring yourself to say it.

You shake your head, willing yourself to try and smile, “No, I should be sorry.” you tug on the end of your mitten, “I’m…not myself lately.”

And you feel bad for the situation you put him in but he looks at you like you’re the only thing he sees.

“May I sit?” He asks and you nod. You make room for him by putting your bag between your feet so he can sit across from you but he drops down in the seat next to you instead.

Alright.

Legs brushing with every sway of the car, Connor sits with his hands folded in his lap rather than resting on his thighs. It’s a small thing, but it’s funny to you how different it makes him look.

You don’t know what to say to him — too nervous of what he’s thinking to even bother starting a topic. So you say what you mean.

“Is something on your mind?”

“Lots.” He gives you a small smile, and you know he’s being intentionally vague.

You think, and then you sigh, “I’m sorry I left you with Agent Taylor.”

He glances over at you then, and raises a brow, his voice taking on a teasing lilt, “She was very angry.”

You don’t reply immediately, unsure of what to say, but Connor beats you to it.

“I considered bluffing about needing to recharge—”

That makes you smile, “No you didn’t you liar,” you laugh.

He smiles back at you, clearly pleased with himself. The two of you sit in silence, just happy to be together, no matter how temporary.

And it’s easy again — easy as it ever was.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Can I carry your bag?” Connor asks, and you feel your chest squeeze in nervousness because you’re sure he’s already scanned the contents. You wonder if Connor knows the implications or just simply knows the nutritional value.

“No, it’s okay,” you say, and as an afterthought you add, “It’s not heavy.” to give it some validity.

“Can I hold your hand?”

 _That_ catches you off guard. You glance up at him and he’s watching you, innocence the only thing apparent on his features. He looks genuinely curious, and then when you don’t immediately reject the idea, he holds out his hand to you.

“I get sweaty hand.” you blurt, and Connor raises a brow.

“Sweaty hand?”

“It’s uh, when your hand gets sweaty from holding someone else’s hand.”

Connor looks like he might laugh for a minute, but it passes and he gives you a patient smile, “Is that the only reason?”

You swallow, finding it harder and harder to find excuses not to. Why is he making it look so damn _easy_ to give you heart palpitations?

“If the issue is that you’re too warm, I can cool the temperature of my own hands so—”

And you take his hand.

It takes Connor a minute to process it, his LED blinking yellow before going back to blue. You find it funny that taking the initiative and holding his hand has rendered him speechless.

And he keeps holding your hand.

As you near your apartment, Connor stops walking. You take a step forward and his hand falls from yours.

“Detective.”

You turn to look at him, suddenly worried, and Connor’s chest seems to heave, something in his posture stiffening.

“Are you in love with me?”

It takes a moment for your mind to catch up to what he’s just said. “What?” you ask, your voice coming out small and shaky. Panic is the only thing you feel.

“I’m in love with you.” he says instead, and your eyes widen even further.

When you don’t respond, and just stare at him dumbly, Connor’s LED blinks red several times and then turns yellow. He looks down at his feet. “Romantically, I mean. I–” he looks up again, “I wanted to tell you sooner and I’m sorry.”

“Why?” you feel your eyes start to burn with tears, and you must look hysterical. You piled heaps and heaps of denial – dumping it onto your heart until it stopped _wanting,_ until it stopped thinking it was _deserving._

And then you’re suddenly incapable of holding it together, “That’s not possible.” you say between the tears.

Connor’s LED is red, panic-stricken at your response. “I meant to tell you at the gala, on the patio.” he tries to clarify. You shake your head vigorously.

“I didn’t think — I thought,” you choke out your words, “But you’re _you_ and I’m—”

He steps forward and pulls you into a hug, your breath stuttering out and your nose bumping into the juncture between his bicep and his chest. Your bag drops onto the sidewalk.

“Hank lectures me about my poor timing.”

You grip the back of Conor’s jacket like a lifeline, letting yourself be held, letting yourself finally let go of this secret you’ve been clutching to your chest.

It spills free.

“I love you too,” you say, the weight on your chest feeling lighter and lighter, even as Connor pulls back to look at your face.

“You do?”

“Yeah,” you laugh wetly, wiping your face. “I never told you because I’m stupid!”

“You’re not stupid.” he admonishes.

“I didn’t want to ruin it. Our friendship.” you explain. His shoulders sag as if he understands.

“I know. It’s important to me too,” he sighs, looking off to the side for a moment, “But I missed being honest with you. Even if you didn’t reciprocate.”

“Connor,” you shake your head even as he holds your face in his hands, “how could I _not_?”

You pull him forward and he kisses your forehead before resting it on his own. You breathe steadily, though your heart beats erratically.

“Your heartbeat –”

“I _know,_ trust me,” you say quickly, embarrassed, “It’ll just take me a minute to…get used to you so close.”

“I suppose I should’ve figured it out when you told me I’m a ‘catch’...” he teases and your heart skips at beat at the humiliating memory alone – and you _know_ Connor hears it because he _laughs._

“I take it back, I take it all back!”

“You can’t, detective, I have a recording.”

“ _Connor_!”

 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

You walk into work in the morning with a ridiculous spring in your step. You’re wound so tightly you think you could be snapped across the room like a rubber band.  

“Good morning detective.” Connor greets you as you arrive at your desk.

You look up and he’s smiling. You struggle not to crush your coffee cup in your hand.

“Good morning.” You reply, feeling giddy and embarrassed all at once. Hank seems to understand immediately that the two of you are in the honeymoon phase of this new _thing_ and you hear his chair scrape against the floor.

“Too early. It’s just _too_ early for this shit, I’m getting a coffee.”

And when you go downstairs near lunch time to submit your reports from the day before, you find Connor there first.  

“I’m having a problem with this.” He says, after you set your reports on the desk outside of the room and scan your card to enter the glass enclosure.

“With what?” you ask.

“I believe some evidence was misplaced.” He says, his voice grave.

“How?” you ask, worry spiking in your voice. Did you make a misstep with Agent Taylor? Did you not use your usual archiving form?

He holds up the rings you wore during your mission, together in a clear plastic bag. When he looks at you, he maintains composure. And you gawk.

“You’re such an ass!” You accuse, laughing.

You know you can’t hide your grin, amusement breaking free, but Connor continues.

“They were quite relevant to the case,” he says, and you practically run at him, “though I failed to see it in your reports—mmf,”

You interrupt him with a kiss. Connor bumps back into the evidence holographic login screen, error noises coming from where he places his hands, trying to steady himself. He closes his eyes, his free hand pocketing the bag to hold the back of your head.

The two of you had been nervous yesterday – having only confessed and then Connor had given you a timid kiss to bid you goodnight before retreating to Hank’s house.

The spell is broken now, though, because you have no reservations. You know how he feels, and you’ve been waiting to kiss him ever since he first suggested it back at the resort.

He pulls back just enough to give you room to catch your breath, “Withholding evidence is a punishable crime.” he says, his voice soft and charming.

“Breaking into someone’s desk is a punishable crime.” you quip.

“Your desk is property of the DCPD,” he smarms back and you bite your lip, quickly thinking of _something_.

Your hands slip up to Connor’s torso, your hands lifting his jacket, “I’m thinking I have just cause to submit a search warrant on an RK800 unit,”

You see his LED turn yellow, and then he clears his throat, trying not to smile.

“You gonna make it?” you tease, tilting your head.

“Yes that was…very unexpected.”

“Good or bad?”

“I liked it.”

You laugh, your heart full _,_ “Good to know.” and when he doesn’t immediately reply, you try to disentangle yourself and get back to work. But Connor stops you, arms holding you just as solidly as ever.

“When I said I have feelings for you,” he blurts, “I didn’t mean just romantically,” he says it so quickly you barely have time to think, and then he clears his throat again, “I meant I'm  _attracted_ to you physically, and—”

“Connor,” you smile, “Kiss me again.”

“I can do that.”

 

And you’re happy to report –  

it’s pretty fucking French.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin!★
> 
>  
> 
> THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!!  
> i cannot thank you all enough for sticking with me. thank you for all your support, it means SO MUCH!!! i hope you enjoyed the conclusion! 
> 
> if you want more of these two, please stick around and read the other works in the [★memos series★](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1066076)!! i've got lots planned so keep an eye out for updates!  
> later stories in this series **will contain smut** so ye be warned!! :^)


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